In the Family
by Jada115
Summary: resubmit for edits  Alan and Miranda reach an understanding about Denny  can't say much here without revealing plot . Based on original BL characters by D.E.Kelley. Miranda/bit parts my creation. Romance; no slash or flash.


In the Family

Miranda buttoned her blue silk blouse over her black lace bra. She said to Alan, "Would you like to come for dinner tonight?"

"I would love to," he said, tucking his shirt into his pants.

She could hear the "but" in his voice. She said, "But?"

"But…an old friend of mine is getting divorced from his fourth wife so he's throwing a bachelor party. Have you seen my tie?" He zipped his pants and buckled his belt.

Miranda looked around. She found it lying behind her. "Sounds like the party is not co-ed." She placed the tie around his neck, slid it into place and worked on tying the knot.

"It's not co-ed," Alan said, his eyes roaming over her face while she concentrated on the tie. "Though I have some interesting fantasies involving you and a strip club."

"You're going to a strip club?" She said flatly. "A little cliché, don't you think?" She jerked the knot a little tighter than was necessary and handed him his suit jacket.

He put on his jacket while she straightened her skirt, swiped away lint.

"How do I look? Everything in place?" he said.

She looked him over. "Yep. Me?"

He chuckled. "You hair is…" He smoothed her hair into order. He pulled her against him. "You know, I rather enjoy these little afternoon reprieves. We should have them much more often."

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and kissed him passionately, almost fiercely.

"If you kiss me like that again, we're going to be here much longer." He glanced at his watch. "And I've got that meeting at 4." He grimaced. "You tied this too tight." He stuck a finger in the knot and loosened it a little.

"Sorry," she said flippantly.

"My intuition tells me you're not."

She grinned mischievously. "It's a better knot than the one you tied."

"I'll have you know I earned patches in the Eagle Scouts for my knot tying abilities. I was among the best."

"You tie knots like a girl," she teased. "My wrists came right out of that."

He lifted the end of his tie. "This tie is made of silk; the knots don't hold as well. Next time we'll try something with more traction, like velvet; you won't get out of that one."

She laughed and put her hand on the door knob. "Ready?"

"Not yet," he said. "I have something for you. Reach in my pocket, the left one." He pulled back his suit jacket, a hint of a smile teasing his lips.

"Really? Again? What about your meeting?" she said playfully, slipping her hand in his pocket.

"I'm sorry I didn't wrap it, but this way is much better, because we both get something out of it."

"Hmm," she said in mock concentration. "Dare I ask what this is?" She looked up into his face, his gaze steady on her. She winked.

The movement of her hand in his pocket, against his leg, was unintentionally erotic. He felt a little light-headed. "You're taking too long. Go ahead pull it out."

"The last time you said that we ended up here," she laughed.

He chuckled.

She pulled her hand out to reveal a strand of pearls. "Oh my! They're lovely."

"To replace the ones I broke the other night. I'm terribly sorry about that."

"Alan, you didn't have to do that. I told you not to worry about it—they were fake."

He took the necklace from her and stood behind her, gently wrapping the strand around her neck. She pulled her hair out of the way so he could clasp it.

"_These_, however, are real," he said. Then he stepped around to see the necklace on her. "In case you're concerned about any deeper meaning to this gift, it is nothing more than an attempt to assuage my guilt and indulge my own desires. I do so like to see you in pearls." An image flashed through his mind of her bare chest dripping with strands of pearls. He tilted his head and ran his finger along the strand where it dipped into the base of her throat.

"Whatever your reasons, I love them. Thank you," she said, snapping him from his reverie.

"You're welcome," he said quietly. "Shall we?"

He opened the door for her.

They stepped out of the supply closet to return to their respective desks.

"So you're really going to a strip club?"

"Among other places, I imagine. Are you jealous?" His question was tinged with a little hope.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was just a tad jealous. "Hardly. I simply believed you would be more original."

"Certainly not as interesting as your friends' bacchanal, perhaps, but carousing with strippers is a time-honored tradition among bachelor party-goers."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. She released a sarcastic yawn. "Boring."

He scoffed a laugh and took her elbow, leading her to the side of the corridor. "I didn't plan this party, Miranda. I'm only tagging along, most grudgingly, in fact. I assure you I'd much rather be nestled in your bed, or mine, listening to the final chapters of _All the King's Men_, while I nibble on your inner thigh."

An intern passed by, a mixture of disgust and concern on her face. She glanced at Miranda.

Miranda said, "Don't worry, honey, the sexual harassment has been completely consensual since he last reported me to the senior partners. I'm simply incorrigible."

The girl grimaced and turned away.

Alan laughed quietly. "That's my girl."

"So then tomorrow night?"

"Tonight is still a possibility," he said inching closer, his eyes drifting to the pearls around her neck. "We are likely to be out very late, but if you would allow me to crawl into your bed, full in my cups, at three in the morning or so…"

"Only to pass out reeking of alcohol, cigars, and cheap perfume, covered in glitter? Hm. Been there, done that, and don't care to re-visit."

"Where's your magnanimity, Miranda? After all, if _you_ came to _me_ in the same condition, I would allow you into _my_ bed. And besides, I've smelled this stripper before and I assure you she has a _delightful_ perfume and uses very little glitter."

She pursed her lips in disapproval. "Nevertheless, drunk sex is rarely fun for the sleeping, sober one."

"Two variables rectified."

She smiled, shaking her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I have several suggestions. In fact I've already begun the Christmas wish list."

She laughed. "Go to your party. Have a wonderful time. I'll see you tomorrow. Right now…" She kissed his cheek. "Go to your meeting; don't leave Shirley waiting on you; it makes her cranky." She left him standing in the hallway, watching her walk away. He loosened his tie a little more as he moved on to Shirley's office.

* * *

In the early morning hours, when Alan was supposed to be at the bachelor party, he was instead being escorted by a police officer to one of the holding cells at the station. He and the officer stopped in front of a cell where a lone individual sat on the bench.

"Miranda," he said.

She looked up; her eyes widened. Then she squeezed her eyes shut, put her hands over her face, and leaned her head back against the wall. "Oh my God, I don't believe this," she groaned from behind her hands.

He turned to the officer. "I believe that's my cue."

The officer slid the door open and Alan stepped inside. Miranda was still wearing her pink fleece pajamas and that ratty lavender terry robe he despised. He decided he would buy her something in red silk to replace this one. She also had on those detestable house shoes. He wondered how she could put her lovely feet inside those things.

She peeked at him through her fingers. His face was tense with concern and something she couldn't quite pinpoint. Anger? Irritation? Exasperation?

"Seems you're in a bit of trouble," he said, sitting next to her on the bench.

"Yes, but why are you here? I called Denny."

"Yes. In what can only be described as a futile attempt to hide the truth. You called him. He called me."

"How could he rat me out like that?"

"He was with Joan."

"Oh. The friend sex pact thing."

"There's that. And since he was otherwise engaged, he wanted me to deal with an associate named Madeline who was in jail for shooting the police—before Shirley found out."

"What? Who's Madeline?"

"Precisely my thoughts, since I thought I knew all the associates. I couldn't imagine a new female associate had escaped my attention."

She rolled her eyes, a little annoyed.

"So I came just to check things out for myself—only to find…you. I'm extremely curious to know how my lover came to be behind bars—and without me. I'm _distraught_ that you didn't include me."

"Next time, I promise," she said sarcastically. "At any rate, I didn't shoot the police," she said, irritated. "I told Denny that I've been _taken_ by the police."

"He gets confused," he said sarcastically. "Especially when he's already somewhat distracted."

She rubbed her forehead in frustration. "I didn't want to get you involved that's why I called him. I thought if he could just post the bail then I would plead out and no one—not you or the partners at the firm—would be any wiser. Shirley told me not to cause any more trouble after the last time…"

Alan nodded. "I remember." He shifted to face her better. "Miranda, Denny's my best friend. How on earth did you think to get through all this without my knowledge?"

"I was hoping he'd forget."

He scoffed a laugh. "Even if he _had _forgotten, it would have gotten back to me through any number of channels. I have too many connections in this town. Did you not consider that?"

"No. I panicked. I was angry. I wasn't thinking straight—obviously." She swung her leg back and forth anxiously.

"Obviously. Well now that I _am _involved. I need you to tell me what happened."

She sighed. "You know how I've been having trouble with those boys and their boom car?"

"Yes."

"They returned tonight. So this time, I went down to the street, knocked on their window and politely asked them to turn it down or leave. I thought I could reason with them."

"That wasn't safe."

"I know, but I didn't care. I just wanted it to stop."

"And since we are sitting here it testifies to the fact that your negotiations didn't go well."

"They didn't. When they rolled down their window some smoky stench emanated from the car. I don't know what it was, but it smelled a little like burning plastic. Anyway, they were definitely smoking something other than weed. I tried to explain that I work and have to get up early and would like to have a decent night's sleep. I told them they didn't even have to turn the music off; just turn it _down_ and lighten up on the bass a little-at least so my windows would stop rattling."

"They said, 'F- off, bitch.' Then the guy in the driver's side eloquently expounded, as you can well imagine, on his rights to be there since he lived on my street."

"And?"

"I explained to him that while he did have a right to be in his car in front of his house, he did not have the right to disturb the peace and keep people from sleeping. He reached over and turned the music up louder. I was fed up. I had had enough."

She paused to study Alan's face, to try to gauge his state of mind, his emotions. He was in full lawyer mode; she couldn't get a read on him.

"And?"

"You don't understand what it's like, Alan." She was near tears now. "Home is supposed to be a haven, a place to decompress, unwind. After working all day I just want to come home and enjoy peace and quiet." She stood and began pacing. "I haven't had a good night's sleep in over a week because of this. I can't hear my music or TV or even concentrate on a book because they sit outside the building, booming that junk they call music." She motioned angrily with her hands. "It's not _music_; it's a nuisance, a menace; it rattles my windows, vibrates through my walls and floors; it even vibrates through my _body_." She spun and put one hand on her hip, the other hand emphasizing her point. "And, what's worse, I think it's making me physically ill. I actually get nauseous from it." She made a fist in front of her stomach. "I know it sounds crazy, but when it eventually stops, so does the nausea. When it begins again, I get the sick feeling again." She wheeled and flopped down on the bench, deflated. "I paid a lot of money to have a home that I can't even enjoy." She looked at him pleadingly. "Can you understand how infuriating this is and how _desperate_ I am to make it stop?"

"I do. So… you shot them?"

"I didn't shoot any _people_."

"So what exactly happened to land you here?"

"They wouldn't turn down the music. So I went upstairs, got the gun, came back down. I forced them out of the car and then shot out the CD player."

"Is that all?"

She hesitated. "Well, I also popped the trunk and shot out the speakers too."

"Is that all?"

She wavered. She looked at her hands.

"Miranda, look at me."

Denny's question echoed in his thoughts: _Is she worth fighting for?_ She looked up at him, large, deep blue eyes, full of anxiety, fear, an edge of desperation. She conveyed all the vulnerability of a child in trouble. _Is she worth fighting for? _She seemed fragile and small and he was suddenly swept with a desire to hold her, protect her. And he knew the answer.

"What happened next?" His voice seemed quiet, distant even to himself.

"I then aimed the gun at the boys and told the driver that if I ever heard his car booming anywhere around my home again, I would do to them what I just did to his speakers. By that time the cops had pulled up."

"You realize you can't threaten people like that while holding a gun."

"Of course, but what else am I supposed to do when people won't listen to reason? When they have no common courtesy, no respect for others? When they just go through the world thinking they can do whatever they want to whomever they want and we all have to sit by and silently suck it up? I tried being nice about it, but they wouldn't let me be nice. So I resorted to more persuasive methods."

"Maybe you should sell the house or rent it out and move back into the hotel."

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Oh, so I can be a kept woman, a concubine?"

"What's wrong with that? I rather favor the concubines. I have plenty of money. I'll drench you in pearls and silk and you can eat cherries while you lounge on enormous cushions."

She chuckled. "Quite the vivid scene. You must have given this some thought."

"No more than usual."

She looked at him, puzzled. "It must be an amazing spectacle inside your mind."

"You have no idea."

"But I think I'll pass on the offer for now. Feels a little like prostitution."

"Is that a problem?"

She looked at him disapprovingly.

"Well, the offer still stands—indefinitely."

"Aren't you the least bit concerned about what's going to happen to me?"

"Not really; it's simple. I'll post bail. You'll plead out."

"And if they come back?"

"It's not likely, but if they do let me know."

"What will you do?"

"I'll manage it. I can be extremely persuasive. In fact, there are a couple of officers here this evening who owe me a special favor. I could arrange for these miscreants to be brought up on drug charges of some kind. They'll likely get some prison time—which will buy you a lot of peace and quiet for at least 6 months to a year, depending on their priors."

She smiled brightly. "That would be amazing. You're officially my hero, my Knight in Armani Armor."

He laughed. The hard look in his eyes warmed when he looked at her.

"So can I leave tonight?"

"Yes. I'll go with you—to keep you from shooting _people_ this time."

"Don't you want to go back to your party?"

"Not particularly."

"So you're not angry at me?"

"No. But I'm extremely disappointed that you would try to hide it and circumvent me through Denny. Promise you won't do that again."

"Even if it's murder?" She smiled crookedly.

"Especially if it's murder since I'd be the only one with any hope of getting you off."

She smiled and looked down at her hands.

He studied her. "Miranda?"

She looked up at him.

"I need to know-where did you get the gun?"

"I plead the Fifth," she said teasingly.

"Where did the gun come from?" He said, his face taught with anxiety.

"I think you already know," she said quietly.

"Ah. And that's why you called Denny instead of me."

She nodded. "It is. He was just trying to help…in his way. He saw me yawning one day, made some lewd comment about you keeping me up at nights and how he would like to keep me up."

Alan set his jaw.

"Anyway, I told him my problem. I didn't think any more about it until he handed me the gun that night. I didn't intend for him to help. I didn't ask him for help. I was just making conversation. I had no intention of using the gun either, but then those boys were so rude and unreasonable...I just ...lost it!"

"Denny's heart is in the right place, I suppose. No doubt he feels a sort of kinship with you because of your association with me. You're like family to him now."

"Really?"

"Sure. You've brandished a firearm. You've shot things. You've been arrested. You've met all the criteria. I imagine if you managed to shoot a person in a moment of vigilante justice you'd become quite like a daughter to him."

She laughed.

"After all, he only gives guns to the people he likes the most." He placed his hand on her knee. "But do me a favor. Don't let Denny help you anymore—especially in the form of firearms or other weaponry. The truth is I can handle only one Denny Crane running lose in the world. So if you could refrain from any more of these episodes that would be most helpful. In fact, I could actually use a little help handling Denny from time to time."

She chuckled. "Okay. I'll try my best to be good."

"Let's not go that far. By all means be mischievous, naughty, even a little wicked—just to keep things spicy—but let's just draw the line at felonies, shall we?"

She nodded.

"Now let's get you out of here." They stood and approached the cell door. The officer slid the door open. "How about you stay with me tonight?"

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I'm not nearly drunk enough and I have hardly any glitter on me at all."

Her giggle echoed in the bright fluorescent hallway. She sniffed him. "And you don't smell like cheap perfume." She paused then added, "I'm sorry I interrupted your party."

"No problem. I'm rather looking forward to hearing the final chapters of my book." He touched the sleeve of her robe. "You can certainly assist with that." He scowled. "Now, let's talk about this robe."

"What about it?"

"I can't believe you wore this."

"They wouldn't let me change clothes."

"Yes, but this thing is dreadful; the color is horrible for you, the texture is uninteresting, the material mediocre. Tomorrow I'll take you to my favorite lingerie shop; it's downtown—very posh. We'll get something in silk. I imagine a dark red, like merlot."

"But I like this robe." She pulled the collar up around her neck. "It's so comfortable and cozy."

"It's hideous," he said frankly.

"But silk won't keep me warm."

"Leave _that_ particular task to me, but this robe must go."

"I'll just wear it when you're not around. I'm not throwing it away."

"Fair enough. Now let's talk about those slippers…"


End file.
